Behind His Eyes
by Saint Paul
Summary: twelve year old Procyon Black is captured by Voldemort in the hopes that he can torture him into becoming a tool for the Dark Lord. Part of the Project Guardian universe


__

A/N this is a character sketch fic I did to try to help me understand some of my characters better. Sometimes it's hard to keep character development from getting in the way of the plot, such as it is, so I do it in side fics. After all, if I know more bout the characters, it's easier to write them. Um, yeah, anyway this one is about Procyon Black, and it takes place in the Project Guardian universe, and Unlike Thestral's True Colors, You might want to read Project: Guardian first, otherwise this might not make much sense. Anyway, that's enough outta me. 

What the Hell? His sight was hazy, but at least now he was conscious. The question was, where was he and how did he get here? He could hear a noise, the sound of horse hooves, and now that he thought about it, he could hear the squeak of carriage wheels and the jarring movements of traveling down an uneven road. 

"Ah good, you are awake Mr. Black." A calm voice, he turned towards the speaker. Karkaroff! This wasn't good, at all. "I was rather afraid I'd hit you too hard with that stunning spell. 

"Professor?" Black's voice was raspy, and he realized how dry his throat had become. "Professor, what's going on?" Procyon, shrewd as he was, was fairly sure he knew exactly what was going on. Still, there was a difference in being fairly sure and knowing. 

"The Dark Lord has returned my boy. He has regained his body and you and I, are going to see him." There was a manic glint in the older man's eyes, and Procyon knew, Karkaroff was going to use him as an offering, a way to get back into his master's good graces. This... wasn't going to be good. 

Now that Procyon's head had cleared a little and he had a chance to look around he suddenly recognized that he was in one of the Hogwarts carriages, and he saw the thestral pulling at it through the window. Karkaroff must have stolen it to make his get-away. "It won't be long now, my boy." Karkaroff continued with a disturbingly fatherly air, sounding as if they were going for a day at the park, and not into the den of an insane murderer. "He'll be delighted to meet you, he will. And then... and then, all will be forgiven." Procyon's suspicions that his headmaster had officially gone 'round the bend were confirmed. The concepts of "Voldemort" and "Delighted" did not belong in the same sentence. 

The rest of the ride passed by in silence, for the most part. Occasionally Karkaroff tried to talk to him, but was met with a stony silence. Soon, too soon For Black's liking, they had arrived at whatever hole in the ground Voldemort was using as his base. Karkaroff looked especially nervous, in order to make his offer to the Dark Lord, he had to get to him first, and considering the number of Death Eaters he'd betrayed, that might prove to be difficult. 

He approached the entrance with his Death Eater robes on and his hood up dragging the boy with him. The farther in he could go without being recognized, the better off he'd be. He passed by the entrance guards, the adult Crabbe and Goyle, without incident. After all, to their dim minds he was in proper robes, he must be a friend. It was almost a pity he wasn't an Auror.

It surprised him greatly that he made it all the way up to the entrance to His Master's chambers before he was finally questioned. 

"Who are you?" The guard grunted and he recognized the voice of Walden Macnair. 

"It's Karkaroff." Lying, at this point, with Voldemort so near, would prove fruitless. 

"The traitor?" Macnair asked, fingering a dagger sheathed by his side. "The one who betrayed us to the Ministry?" 

"I seem to remember you claiming to have been under Imperius when our Lord disappeared the first time Walden." Macnair started, then shifted self-consciously. 

"I shall inform the Dark Lord of your presence." He turned and slowly entered the chamber, he was gone for a few minutes before returning, shaking visibly, the effects of the Cruciatus Curse. "He wishes to see you, Karkaroff."

Karkaroff nodded and dragged Procyon into what was effectively Voldemort's throne room.

"Karkaroff." Voldemort hissed. "And here I was thinking you'd left us for good." His slitted red eyes noticed Procyon for the first time. "What's this? Who is this boy?" 

Karkaroff roughly shoved Procyon forward and the boy stumbled and fell onto the hard stone floor. "His name is Procyon Black. Son of Regulus Black and Helga Brangekamp."

"Why have you brought him to me? I have no interest in the son of a cowardly fool."

"He is an elementalist, Lord." 

Voldemort's eyes widened slightly, a sure sign that his interest had been peaked. "I see. This could be of some use to me, if you are indeed telling the truth." He raised his wand and magically dragged Procyon to his feet then forced his head up. "Look into my eyes boy!" Procyon's black eyes burned as they were forced to look straight into Voldemort's black and red ones. 

Suddenly his mind opened like a doorway and everything came tumbling out. _No! _ His eyes gave off a silver light and the power of Metal flowed into him. Metal, the magic of Defense. He heard a _BANG! _in his mind and Voldemort's presence was forcefully ejected. 

"Hmm... Interesting." Voldemort drawled. "Yes... I believe he could be of some use to us." He turned to look at a now smiling Karkaroff. "You however, are not Karkaroff." He raised his wand. "I thank you for the gift Igor, but your presence is no longer required. _Avada Kedavra!"_

Procyon had been in their "care" for several months now. _It's lucky for them I'm an orphan, _He thought to himself _otherwise, somebody might actually come looking for me. _No, Procyon knew that if he was ever going to get out of here, he'd have to do it himself. He heard the door to his cell creak open and three men in black robes entered. Lucius Malfoy, Walden Macnair and Kane MacDougal, Voldemort's personal Torture experts. 

"Good morning Procyon." Lucius said jovially. "How are we today?" Procyon's eyes blazed red and the air in front of Malfoy burst into flame for a second. While Malfoy and his goons were busy putting out the front of Malfoy's robes, Procyon tried to reign in his anger. _Watch it Black, your emotions are dangerous! Don't give in to them._

"Charming as always, Mr. Black." Malfoy smiled cruelly. "You're lucky you're Lord Voldemort's little pet project, otherwise..." His tone turned harsh, "I would make you pay severely for that!" 

Procyon grinned. It was so much fun baiting them. They could torture the blood right out of his veins, but he knew that they were really afraid of him. After all, if he wanted he could burn their skin right off, back time up and do it again. 

At least, he could if it weren't for the shackles around his wrists. They prevented him from using Time and Shadow magic. 

"So," Malfoy's voice was back to being jovial. "Shall we begin today's lesson?" Procyon felt a growl deep in his throat and sparks danced on his fingertips. "I shall take that as a yes." Malfoy dusted off his robes, cleared his thoat and raised his wand. 

"Ahem. _CRUCIO!" _Lightning sparked out of his wand and danced along Procyon's body and he gritted his teeth to hold in the scream. His silvered eyes flashed and a silver glow came over his body holding back the attack. "Good." Malfoy nodded. "Let's try that again. CRUCIO!" The attack was stronger and Procyon could feel it beating against his defenses, gradually wearing them down until with a snap they shattered and the lightning raced across his body. His arms strained against the magical bonds that chained him and kept him from shadow porting. 

Without meaning to, Procyon called on his own lightning element. His violet eyes ablaze elecctric currents raced down his arms and out his fingers, striking Malfoy in the chest and knocking him backward. He landed with a thud. on the cold hard stone. 

"Excellent." MacDougal commented. "I think we're making progress with the lad." 

What Followed next was what Procyon later called the Clockwork Torture. It started out slowly at first. MacDougal Macnair and Malfoy would come in. On Mondays they would enter, MacDougal in red robes, Malfoy in Blue robes, and Macnair in Green robes. They would perform the Cruciatus curse on him for hours at a time, pushing his defenses to the limit. Then they would leave. 

The next day they would come back. MacDougal in Blue robes, Malfoy in Green and Macnair in red, then they would drop him in a large vat of water and hold him under for longer and longer periods of time, only pulling him out at the last second before he drowned. Again they would do this for hours at a time. 

Wednesdays, Macdougal would be in Green, Malfoy in Red and Macnair in blue, then they would burn him alive until he activated his Water abilities to put out the flames. Then they would heal his injuries and start all over again. And again, and again, and again. 

Thursdays all three torturers would be dressed in blue. On that day they would take what looks like muggle scalpels and carve patterns into his skin. if he tried using Metal magic to keep them off, they would _Crucio _him until the defenses fell, then they would heal him and cut his skin some more. 

Fridays would find them dressed in red. They would shove him into a sensory deprivation tank for hours. Occasionally they would cause colored lights to blink randomly at him in the tank or voices to whisper at him as he floated there. 

Saturdays were the most confusing of all. All that the three of them would do, and they would be dressed in green, would be ask him pointless questions. "What's your name?" "What happened yesterday?" "How old are you?" "What day is it?" "How long have you been here?" 

Sundays the three torturers would all be dressed in black. They would show him four lights and ask him how many he saw. if he said four they'd shock him with _Cruciatus _and tell him they were five lights there. Then they'd ask him again and every time he said there were four lights they'd _Crucio _him for longer and longer periods of time, until he told them there was five lights. Or he made a fifth light appear.

After each session, they would leave him in pitch black darkness, until the next day. They used spells to eliminate his need for food and water, so he never got any food. 

Eventually, after a few weeks of this, they would shorten the time between sessions. Doing maybe two in a day instead of one. But they always kept everything consistent. Clothes, how they acted, what they said, what they did, the order they did it in. After each session they would leave him the darkened room for a few hours. 

Then, after a few more weeks of this, they would shorten the time even more, doing several in a single day. But as always the pattern and actions were all the same. It got to the point where Procyon couldn't tell one torture session of a certain type from another, and each session felt like a full day had passed. 

Then they changed it again. They would perform one of the tortures, knock him out for a few minutes, then perform the torture that came two steps ahead of the one they just did. This caused Procyon, who was now intimately aware of the pattern, to think that entire days had slipped by without his knowledge. 

His sense of time became so distorted after awhile that he soon couldn't tell what day it was, or even what year it was anymore. As far as he was concerned, he'd been in that room for a few years, instead of just a few weeks. 

He clung desperately to his sanity, even as it began to slip away from him. Nevertheless, a fragmented plan of escape had begun to form in his torture addled brain. 

Voldemort, however, was not pleased by the lack of progress in turning the boy. "Lucius." There was a dangerous tone in Voldemort's voice. "He is a twelve year old boy! Why is it the three of you, my absolute best torture artists not currently in Azkaban, CAN NOT BREAK HIM?!" 

"His elemental magic is aiding him, protecting him. Since we cannot separate him from it, as we would by taking a normal person's wand, it is... difficult." Lucius did not mention the hypocrisy in his master wondering at his difficulty in breaking a twelve year old, as he had been defeated himself by a fourteen year old half-blood. At least Black was a pureblood. 

"Do NOT make excuses." Voldemort grated. "Finish it!" The Dark Lord waved his hand dismissively and Lucius backed out of the room. 

Black, meanwhile, was using the momentary reprieve to weave the threads of his escape plan into a cohesive idea. There was a bang that jolted him out of his feverish trance. Malfoy looked down at him, holding a slightly smoking wand in his right hand. Procyon was slightly surprised to see him dressed in robes of deep purple. That didn't fit the pattern, maybe they'd given up on the clockwork torture? There was a spark of light and Procyon noticed Macnair fiddling with a lighter. The small flame rose higher for a moment as it lit the pipe the dark hair Death Eater was smoking. 

_Fire, ...smoke. _ the last two pieces of the plan chunked into place. He'd never used his smoke element before, but then again, before he'd gotten here, the only elements he'd ever used before were Sand, and Shadows. And the only time he'd ever used those was when he'd cheated on tests and stole homework answers out of his teachers offices. It was hard to keep out a shadow walker. 

Nevertheless, the Death Eaters had beaten the other elements out of him, seemed appropriate that the remaining one led to his escape. His eyes turned a hazy sort of gray, the smoke from the pipe twisted and tendrils of it formed into a complicated rune in the air. The smoke glowed briefly and then rushed to envelop Procyon in it's embrace. Procyon chuckled quietly to himself as the cloud of smoke sent out a small tendril to each of his three tormentors. They each inhaled the enchanted mist and their gaze took on a dazed, glassy look. 

Procyon vaguely wondered how he was able to control Smoke so well if he'd never used it before, he figured it was due to the effect emotion had on elemental magic. Not that he was likely to look a gift horse in the mouth either way. 

The smoke twisted around him, changing color and form until he was cloaked in a fair illusion of the Dark Lord in his throne room. 

Procyon let loose an evil cackle, the exact same that he had often heard Voldemort employing during his stay with the Death Eaters. At the chilling sound, Malfoy and the Other two, snapped to attention, though their gazes still seemed a bit unfocused

"FOOLS!" Procyon yelled, and the illusion of Voldemort gestured grandly. "I told you to break the boy, and yet you have failed me!" 

"Forgive us Lord, his magic was too strong for us. His defenses were too powerful." 

"Yes," 'Voldemort' Continued. "Because you are weak! I expected better from representatives of some of the oldest wizarding families in England, and yet I am disappointed." Procyon made the illusionary Voldemort, scratch his chin thoughtfully. "Very well." He continued. "If he cannot be broken, then he serves us no purpose. I want you to kill him, then throw his worthless body to the wolves." The faux-Dark Lord steepled his long, bony fingers. "Oh and Lucius," He continued a bored drawl in his voice. "Your wand is in your left pocket." 

The three Death Eaters bowed low and walked zombie-like, through the illusionary door. Procyon pranced them around the edge of the room a few times like so many ghoulish marionettes, making them think they were walking through the corridors of the underground compound. then he marched them in front of him, the real him. 

"Mr. Black." Lucius muttered vaguely to Procyon, who was lying chained to the floor as always. "A pleasure to see you again. Pity, that it will be the last time." He raised his left hand, curled around an imaginary wand. _"Avada Kadavra!" _Procyon faked a convulsion, then lay still, deadly still. 

MacDougal drew his wand, his was real, and pointed it at the 'dead corpse' _"Mobilicorpus" _Procyon held in a chuckle as his body floated above the ground, though still limp. He was getting out of here, and he wasn't being rescued. He had managed to get himself out. He. Didn't. Need. Anybody. 

True to their orders, his three little puppets heaved him into the forest, he landed a little roughly, but the resulting bruise was nothing compared to what he'd been through already. As soon as they'd gone back inside he took a deep breath of fresh air. After that he jumped into the shadow of a nearby tree and instantly reappeared about a hundred yards away. Seeing this he shook his head exasperatedly. This, he reasoned, was the drawback to control over all twelve of the elements. His abilities were, comparatively, limited. He knew this was true because he'd read in his Metaphysics textbook at Durmstrang that other Shadowmancers were able to travel up to a mile in a jump. 

_Oh well. _He thought to himself. _I suppose I'd better get as far from here as possible before ole' snake-in-the-grass discovers what I've done. _He checked his pockets. _And I'll need a new wand. _


End file.
